


The Hunting Trip

by Xochiquetzl



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xochiquetzl/pseuds/Xochiquetzl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denny, Alan, a cabin in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunting Trip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyrastar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrastar/gifts).



> For Yuletide 2008.

The last few miles up the mountain were surprisingly difficult for Alan, especially with Denny not seeming tired at all. "It's just up here," Denny said. "Hurry up! I want to get some shooting in before nightfall."

Alan sighed, and considered walking slower. Fish were one thing, but the inevitable Bambi jokes were another. Maybe he could hide Denny's rifle. Maybe he could distract Denny somehow. Hookers, or strippers.

"What's the matter?" Denny asked.

"Tired," Alan said.

"It's just up here," Denny said. "You'll see. Wait'll you see this cabin. You're going to love it!" He kept walking, even faster.

Alan wondered where a man Denny's age--with alleged mad cow, no less--found so much energy. He walked faster, even though he suspected he'd regret it.

As they walked around the side of the mountain, circling around towards the lake, the cabin appeared. It was bigger than Alan expected, but he supposed everything about Denny was.

"It's made out of an old train car," Denny said. "And the glass is from old phone booths."

Alan simply had to ask the obvious question. "How the hell did you get a train car up here?"

Denny laughed. "Train line used to be a few miles up the road. And I didn't; the crazy man who built this place did. We just get to benefit from his insanity." He stopped. "What do you think?"

Alan knew Denny wanted him to say he loved it, but Alan wasn't willing to commit before he'd seen the inside. "I'm pleasantly surprised." Denny looked disappointed, so he added, "I can't wait to see the inside."

"You'll love it!" Denny said, and headed towards the front door. "I hear he used a crane."

"What?" Alan called after Denny's back.

"The crazy man who built the house!" Denny said. "I hear he used a crane. Big industrial job."

Alan sighed and followed Denny. His feet hurt, and he was hot and sweaty and hoping the cabin had air conditioning. And a hot tub.

"No electricity," Denny said. "I hope you don't mind."

Of course not. Only for Denny would Alan be trudging through the mountains in order to spend a few days in an abandoned train car watching Denny shoot things without electric lights. Alan should have brought strippers.

Denny pulled out his keychain and unlocked the door. Alan found himself wondering if anyone would be able to find this place in order to rob it, and if anything in there was worth stealing.

The inside was stone floors, and glass going up two stories, and a metal staircase going to a room up above the train car part. In the other direction, it had a beautiful view of a lake and the mountains. No other houses were visible. On one side, a huge stone fireplace took up two stories. Alan was relieved to note that there were no dead animal heads in evidence. It was rustic, but surprisingly charming in its eccentricity. Much like Denny. "I love it."

Denny was so happy that Alan thought he might do a little jig. "You should see the rest of it! Wait'll you see the bathroom. I have a solar water heater. Not for pinko reasons, but because it's practical in the middle of nowhere."

"Of course," Alan said.

"The crazy guy who built the house installed it," Denny said, stepping up a series of metal steps into a long, narrow area that must be the old train car. There was a wood cookstove--it looked like a genuine antique--and windows with stained glass insets in the form of dragons. Alan laughed. "It's fanciful, sure," Denny said. "But isn't it cool?"

"Very," Alan said. "Do you actually know how to use that stove?"

"Of course," Denny said. "Come on, the bathroom's this way." They headed down the long, narrow hall, past couches and a formal dining table where the seats used to be and what appeared to be the original windows. One one side, he could see out the telephone booth glass. "I once had three women out here," Denny said. "Too bad we only have one bed." He gave Alan a sidelong look. "If you tell people we're sleeping together, I'll have to kill you."

"Of course," Alan said. They finally reached the other end of the house, and Denny opened the door at the end of the hall.

The bathroom had one of those glassed in showers and a big old iron clawfoot bathtub. Alan started to laugh. "It's wonderful!"

"Composting toilet," Denny said. It did look kind of odd. "I was skeptical, but even though I'm not here very often, it doesn't smell. I've had some of the best shits of my life on that baby."

Too much information. "I'm sure."

"So," Denny said. "Want to go shoot something?"

"I want to take a shower and drink some scotch and put my feet up," Alan said.

"Oh," Denny said, but he sounded disappointed. "I'll let you take your shower and I'll start dinner. Wait'll you taste the scotch I keep out here. It's the good stuff." He wandered off, and Alan unstrapped his backpack and put it down with a groan. He peeked inside the shower. The toiletries Denny had in there were nicer than what he brought, so he left his in the backpack and stripped off his clothes.

The water was surprisingly warm, although the water pressure wasn't everything he could hope for. He didn't know how much hot water there was, so he tried not to linger. He wrapped himself in a towel and went to investigate his backpack.

Silk pajamas. Yes. That would send the correct message about what he hoped to do out here. Which, for the record, wasn't shooting Bambi. Or Thumper. Or... He searched his memory trying to come up with a beloved children's book, movie, or television bird, but all he could come up with was Tweetie Pie, and Denny wasn't about to go shoot canaries, or whatever the hell Tweetie Pie was.

Only for Denny Crane would he be out here. Even if the place did have a certain eccentric charm.

There was a wonderful smell coming from the end of the hall. A searing meat smell, not a Cordon Bleu smell. Certainly not a freeze-dried camping meal smell. Alan padded down the hall barefoot, abandoning his pack and dirty clothes in the bathroom. Denny was frying a steak in a cast-iron skillet over the wood stove. The smile Denny gave him was pure predatory feline. Maybe he wouldn't have to work too hard to get Denny away from the woodland creatures and into bed as he thought he would.

"How the hell did you get steak up here?" Alan asked.

Denny was smug. "You can't expect me to give up all my secrets."

Alan laughed. "You never cease to amaze me."

Denny lit an oil lamp on the kitchen table. He pulled two plates out of a china cabinet and put the steaks on them, then carried them over to the dinner table, where he'd already put out silverware and scotch glasses. He lit candles on the table. "Dinner is served."

Alan supposed it was too much to ask for Denny to smuggle salad and baked potato in his backpack to go with the steak. "It smells wonderful." He cut the steak and took a bite. "Denny, this is..."

Denny smiled again, one of those wonderful, smug smiles. One of those _I have something special in mind_ smiles. "Candlelight suits you."

Oh, Denny. So suave, so romantic. So willing to pretend he didn't know that Alan was easy. "You, too." He took a sip of scotch. "Oh, my." Ambrosia.

"I told you it was the good stuff." Denny took a sip of scotch himself. They finished their dinner quickly--Alan was starved, and he supposed Denny was, too. Then Denny put down his fork and looked across the table at Alan, serious. "I have a confession to make. I lured you up here under false pretenses. I'm afraid my intentions are dishonorable."

"Oh, thank God," Alan said.

"Can't you at least pretend to be romantic?" Denny asked. His voice was exasperated, but his eyes twinkled.

"I was just afraid you were really going to make me shoot Bambi," Alan said.

"I was thinking more along the lines of shooting Daffy."

"I never liked him, anyway."

Denny laughed. "I still haven't shown you the bedroom."

"What a terrible oversight," Alan said. "I hope you'll rectify that situation as soon as possible."

Denny stood and picked up the oil lamp off the kitchen table, then walked back to the dinner table. He blew out the candles and took Alan's hand. He led him down the iron steps into the entryway, then let go of Alan's hand to take the rail as he walked up the stairs leading above the train car. Alan followed.

The bed was huge, and covered with mosquito netting. Denny put the oil lamp on a dresser and started to light candles around the room. "Do you ever feel like you're in some kind of story?"

"Sometimes," Alan said. "Do you feel like you're in one now?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

Denny stepped closer, and kissed Alan lightly. "What kind of story is it?"

"I think it's a romance," Alan said. "A quirky one."

"You mean, like When Harry Met Sally?"

More like Secretary. "Something like that." Alan closed his eyes, and Denny kissed him again, deeper this time. Denny tasted like scotch and steak. Kissing Denny was like a really good argument and a really good scotch rolled into one. Alan liked how he could just lie back and let Denny come to him. The part he liked best was that Denny always came. Over protest, and against his better judgment.

Denny pulled Alan over to the bed and nudged him towards it. Alan lay back and watched Denny undress. He preferred it when Denny undressed him. There was always this moment where Denny--who, despite his fear of Alzheimer's, never forgot a sexual detail--would run his hand lightly along Alan's inseam, and Alan would melt. Putty.

Denny lay down next to him and reached up and unbuttoned Alan's pajama top. And then--Oh, God, here it came--his fingers slid down Alan's chest, over a thigh, and then, soft, a single finger tracing along Alan's inner thigh. Alan closed his eyes, his lips parting, his legs spreading a little...

Denny chuckled, smug. And then he slid his hand into Alan's pajama bottoms and wrapped it around his cock. "I have a secret to share," Denny whispered, his lips right next to Alan's ear.

Alan shivered; he loved when Denny did that. "What?"

"I was able to fit steaks in my backpack because I didn't bring clothes." And then his hand started to stroke in earnest.

"Denny," Alan gasped.

Denny stopped long enough to pull off Alan's pajama bottoms, and then he went back to his hand job. He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing Alan's ear, and whispered, "I want to watch your face when you come." Which not only fucking hot, but also probably Denny for _I love you._ He was close, and he reached up and wrapped his arms around Denny's neck and looked into Denny's deep, dilated eyes. In the candlelight he looked young and beautiful, and he was arching up and moaning and oh, Denny...

Denny wiped his hand off on the sheet and then curled up next to Alan. "Just to keep the night terrors away."

Alan clung to him and kissed him fervently on the cheek.

"You can do me in the morning," Denny said, magnanimous as usual, and Alan laughed softly and fell asleep.


End file.
